Daisies and Dampness
by TieDyeJackson
Summary: AU - Post "Gift" - Life after Buffy and the deep scars her death creates - Spike POV - R & R - Spara - if you don't like it , don't read it .


She smells of daisies and dampness.

It reminds him of the old country home before the change. His tutor would scold him, warned him he would catch his death; but every morning he would lie in the morning grass, taking in that wonderful smell as the sun tickled his eyelids and he daydreamed of fairy wings and human things.

That was over a century ago, give or take a few decades. Before he had become the debauched half demon with hellfire in his eye and a pocketful of death. The corners of his mouth gently curved upward at the thoughts of his "youth". Some kids stole money from mommy's purse, others massacred thousands in a never ending blood lust, poe-tay-toh, poe-tah-toh. He shook his head slightly to scramble these dark thoughts. He was s different kind of sort now , a noble vampire without all the whiny "woe is me" peaches-like poof behavior.

He scratched at the back of his head wondering if the silicon slice in there would eventually just loose it's juice or break down eventually. Even if it was a lifetime away he wondered what would happen the. Would he still behave the way he was now or would he give into his depravity once more like a drug-addled, deranged Caligula. His life had always been so black and white, with him siding with the black, but for the past few years his life had taken on this shade of gray.

Damn the bloody chip and damn the bloody slayer.

He winced at the thought and it hurt him more than the chip ever could. He had loved her, even if it wasn't reciprocated. He had lusted after her, he had desired her, he had cared for her, and he had killed her. If he would have just been able to stop Doc a few seconds more, if he would have just been able to get to her, he would have drained them both just enough , so he could have been the one that had jumped.

That was the domino that had knocked all the pieces down. He kept his promise and took care of the little bit. He was her shoulder when she was in despair. He was there in the shop when she found what the rest were hiding from her. He was there for the anger that she screamed at them , the tears of rage and betrayal and hurt that they would try to bring her back for their own selfish emotion. She destroyed the urn and tore up the spell , and slapped Willow so hard that he felt the sting and that was that.

First it was that git Xander and Anya. They were going to Texas as he got an offer from a construction company down that way. He said he was doing it for their future, but Spike knew it was to escape the past. A lot of hugs and empty promises to keep in touch. The same sendoff that Giles received when he returned to England. He left them his shop and a quite large stipend from the family fortune to assuage the guilt of his abandonment.

Willow was another sad tale with it's own end. The magic had consumed her. She hid it well at first but it eventually reared its ugly head in full technicolor. Dawn wouldn't talk to her and she couldn't handle loosing the slayer. She withdrew, restored the rat witch and then fell in with a bad crowd, led by a man named Rack whose notorious reputation was not lost on Spike. They had tried to pull her back, even Dawn recognized the need and begged her to give it up. She'd be gone for days at a time and then come home and sleep and find a way to escape from them to pull the same routine. One day she just didn't come back.

Then there was three. Glinda put on a brave face for the little bit and took to being like a mom right proper. Smiles, and hugs and pats of the back; brushing hair and girl talk and praise for good grades. But he could hear the sobs that flowed through the house after she had put Dawn to bed and thought he had left for patrol. At Dawns eventual insistence, he moved into the basement and she now confined herself to her room, muffling with a pillow the cries that could be picked up regretfully by vampire hearing.

One night , he slumped to her room after a particularly grueling patrol, a nasty nest had taken a chunk and she silently got up and taken him to the bathroom and started to clean his wounds like a million times before . As he opened the door to the basement, he heard her again. He didn't know if there was something different about this cry or if it was just an urge but he went back to her room. He opened the door quietly enough for her to not hear and then slipped in beside her and cried himself . He hadn't cried since she died, since the slayer had died, no, since Buffy had died. They both cried the rest of the night. Two souls full of grief at lost loves. He left at dawn only to come back every night thereafter.

Months passed, same routine until that changed. One night she turned to face him; He kissed her and it went from there. It was soundless, expressionless and blank. No feeling or eye contact . He wondered if she was with him or he was with her or if they were just chasing ghosts and memories.

Dawn said nothing but would smirk at them every once and a while when she thought no one was looking.

He looked at her and froze. He had broken the unspoken rule but couldn't look away. She looked at him and started to cry. He was going to leave this bed, this house, he was going to leave Sunnydale ! He started to move when her hand caught his and she entwined his fingers with his.

William.

The word that cut through the silence in the room. The word that cut through all the pretense and denial . The word that cut through all the pain and suffering and sadness of the last year. Made it all melt away.

Tara.

That response was all that both would ever need.

She had once told him while he was brooding about being a soulless thing that a soul was not tangible that it was a state of being. A knowledge a right and wrong. A drive to be a better person

He didn't know if it was a soul.

Right now he felt more man than monster.

Right now he felt more alive that he had ever had as Spike, William the Bloody, or William Pratt.

Right now, he felt as in love with life as that boy that laid down in the spring morning meadow.

She smells of daisies and dampness.


End file.
